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Thursday, February 07, 2013

Mr. Thomas Prequel: Secret Thoughts

Secret Thoughts

I’ve been putting
this off far too long, I thought as I paced around the bridge. I can’t put it off any longer. It has to be
done. For Jenna.

The loss of her sister has taken its toll on her, and
Jenna decided that it would be best if she went back to her home for an
extended holiday from our travels. Now I’m not so certain that was a good idea.
Her mother doesn’t know Louise ever existed. She was written clean out of the
timeline. But she insisted, and the last thing I would ever want is to force
Jenna to do anything.

I paced around the central console cluster once more
before turning and walking off the bridge, down the corridor, and into Jenna’s
bunk. I booted up her console and sat at the edge of her bed, smoothing my hair
back with my hand as I looked at the screen.

“Begin recording program M-T-D-1-3-D,” I said. There was
a clicking noise to confirm my command, and the screen went white. I took a
deep breath.

“Jenna,” I began, swallowing hard, “If you’re seeing
this, I’m either dead or in mortal peril, and there’s little to no hope for my
survival. Since the beginning of our travels, your safety has been of the
utmost importance to me. As such, I’ve programmed the ship to bring you home.
Once you’re safely back to Earth with your mum, the ship will relocate and
cloak itself so no one ever finds it.

“I know by now you’re screaming at this recording. You’re
probably frantically hitting buttons and demanding that the ship turn around,
but I promise you that this is for the best. Your safety means more to me than
my own survival, and I’m glad that I was able to fall in order to raise you
up.”

I paused and cleared my throat, smoothing my hair back. “I’m
sorry, Jenna. If I’d known the damage I was causing to your timeline, I never
would have barged in. You’re a peculiar sort of addiction, sweetheart. Having you
around wasn’t killing me; it was killing you. I’m that selfish of a bastard.” I
paused again, considering other things I could include.

“End recording,” I said after a few moments. If I wanted
her to know more than that, I would have to tell her face-to-face. “Save to
program MTD13D and close out.” The computer gave a short beep to acknowledge
the command, and went on to do its work before shutting down automatically.

I was already back to the bridge by the time it had gone
back to sleep, charting course for Earth. I knew a certain 11-year-old girl who
needed a vacation.